


Of Our Own Device

by FunnyWings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Destiel - Freeform, Drowley, Drug Addict Castiel, Love Triangles, M/M, Slice of Life, Teacher!Dean, Yes both ships, lawyer!Crowley, lawyer!Sam, mostly angst, unresolved love triangle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-07 15:37:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14084094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FunnyWings/pseuds/FunnyWings
Summary: Just when Dean finally thinks he's moved on with a great guy, his ex calls to tell him he's relapsed and needs help. Life and love don't always make sense, but Dean's doing the best he can.***Excerpt:Dean looked across the table at Crowley. He knew he should hang up. He should figure out Lilah’s number and send her Cas’ way and get on with his evening and try to salvage what was supposed to be one of the most important nights of his life, if chick flicks were to be believed.“Crowley,” Dean said, instead. “I have to go take care of something.”Crowley blinked. He didn’t even look surprised. Dean waited for him to respond in some way, give some indication of what was going through his head.“Go,” Crowley finally said, emotionless. And that’s how Dean knew, he needed to stay right now. He needed to put the phone down and get on his fucking knees asking forgiveness. But instead-“Cas, where are you?” he said into the phone. “I’ll be there as soon as I can, so don’t friggin’ move, okay?”





	Of Our Own Device

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Mentions drug use (there is no "on screen" use)

The restaurant was fancy, French, and forgettable, just like its name. It’s not really Dean’s style, but that’s kinda the point. It’s not really in Dean’s budget either, but that’s also part of the point. And it’s not the only part of tonight that’s out of Dean’s budget.

“You look nice.”

And here he is, thought Dean to himself. Crowley wasn’t what Dean had pictured as being his type when he was a little girl (and yes, thank you, he’s aware that’s a vaguely misogynist way of putting it). Crowley is something between a high flying lawyer and a loan shark, depending on the day and his mood. Mostly his mood. He and Sam had something of a rivalry going, and to hear Sam tell it, Crowley was responsible for a good sixty percent of corruption in the NYC legal system.

Which, clearly, should have been a turn off, but they’d been dating nine months and Sam’s bitching hadn’t gotten bad enough to convince Dean to stop. And yes, maybe Crowley was a rebound. But beneath the snarky law talk and the lack of normal human ethics, he was also a good guy. Sometimes. At the very least, he was good to Dean and that was a nice change of pace.

“What? Is that a crime?” Dean blustered back as Crowley walked past him into Le Whatever, completely at home with the nouveau riche atmosphere, and a confused design scheme that could give a few garish (and much cheaper) dessert chains a run for their money. “I’m not allowed to look nice?”

“You’re allowed,” said Crowley. “But you tend to choose not to. I bought you that suit for your birthday, and the only time I’ve seen you wear before tonight was at your little gremlins’ graduation ceremony.”

“Could you not call my kids gremlins?” Dean grumbled. Crowley raised an eyebrow.

“We all get it. Your a saint that makes learning fun, and you don’t even need to rap. It’s a miracle, really,” said Crowley dryly.

“You’re really having a go at me today,” said Dean. Crowley’s suspicion only seemed to increase. “I just figured, Sam told me that you were having a shitty time in your latest death match against the powers of good, or whatever, and you like expensive crap and suits. I figured I’d do something nice for you.”

Crowley took a long look at Dean and something in him seemed to relax. He actually even smiled for a second, which wasn’t the most common occurrence in the world.

“Like I said: we all get it. You’re a saint,” said Crowley. “But at least you’ve got some sense. Unlike you’re bleeding heart brother who’ll buy any sob story a pretty girl has to sell him.”

“Lay off, Sam,” said Dean, on reflex. “C’mon, let’s go get our table.”

Dean walked up to the hostess and mustered up a charming smile. Yes, two for Winchester and yes, we’re a little late, and yes, Winchester like the gun, ma’am. The woman hummed and hawed a moment over his ID, likely because Dean’s hair had been several different colors than it was now when he’d gotten that driver’s license (and if that hadn’t been a decision wrapped up in why exactly Crowley was a rebound). Dean managed to subtly flash her the ring box he had in his inner pocket and a pleading look. In a second, the hostess’ eyes seemed to melt, and she fell over herself to sit them down.

“Are you packing heat?” Crowley asked him.

“What? No!” Dean said. “Can you just relax for two seconds. I’m not a client. Stop trying to figure me out.”

Crowley sighed and picked up his menu, content to peruse the wine selection. Dean hoped against hope he would stick to the midrange bottles, because as far as romantic gestures went, having to admit you couldn’t foot the bill for the dinner you’d suggested was about as good as proposing at a dive diner would have been. Dean didn’t need to worry though. If anything, Crowley seemed to take pity on him, and ordered well within Dean’s ability to cover.

“You should just get your driver’s license renewed. Then you won’t have these problems. What are you going to do if you want to fly somewhere?” remarked Crowley after placing his order.

“You and I both know I’m flying anywhere over my dead body, so that’s not really an issue,” Dean retorted. “You really are in a bad mood today.”

“I had to take Juliet to the vet,” Crowley said over the piece of bread he was buttering. “She swallowed a sock.”

“That sucks,” said Dean. And because he couldn’t help himself. “You need a smarter dog.”

“You know better than to insult her. Is this because I rightly pointed out your brother has a soft spot that he should lose if he wants to be a decent lawyer?”

“Sam isn’t a dog,” said Dean rolling his eyes. “And I’m sorry. You’re right. I want to have a nice dinner. I want this to be nice.”

Something seemed to click behind Crowley’s eyes. And just like that, he was smiling again.

“Nice. How exactly would you like it to be nice?”

“Shut up.”

“Now you’re sounding like yourself,” Crowley said, way too pleased with himself. Smug bastard. Dean’s smug bastard, but still.

“You know, you’re the most catlike dog person I’ve ever met,” said Dean. The wine guy, whatever he was called, stopped by their table to pour and Crowley waited until he was gone before speaking again.

“Well, did you want to get on with it then?” he asked. “I can answer now, if you-“

“No. You’re gonna listen to my fucking speech, because I didn’t spend three goddamn hours rehearsing it for nothing,” said Dean. “Now where was I?”

“You hadn’t started,” Crowley said, looking thoroughly entertained by the turn his night had taken. Which was… reassuring, Dean guessed. It wasn’t like he didn’t know Crowley liked him, or he wouldn’t be asking, and even Sam had admitted that nine months could be enough time with the right person (in Sam speak that meant “not Crowley,” but what the fuck did Sam know anyway?).

“Right,” Dean said. “Look, I like you. A lot. And I want this to be permanent.”

“Great speech.”

“I couldn’t remember it. You psyched me out,” Dean grouched back, but he was smiling now. “What I’m trying to say is-“

There are a lot of shitty times for your phone to ring. At 3 a.m. When you’re in the middle of going to the bathroom. When you’re about to destroy your mom in Words with Friends, and the app freezes your game (Dean is pretty sure that last part is on purpose, since it’s always his mom calling him when it happens). But in the middle of when your trying to friggin’ propose to your boyfriend? Not cool.

Dean didn’t recognize the number. He looked at the phone and then at Crowley.

“My dad had a heart attack last year, I should-“

“Answer it,” Crowley said, waving his hand like he didn’t care. That was bullshit, and Dean wouldn’t be surprised if he somehow ended up sleeping on the couch tonight, but if it was his dad, it would be better if he got to the hospital before his mom did. That was about the only benefit of being John Winchester’s emergency contact.

“Dean Winchester speaking, is everything alright?” he said immediately. For a moment there was just light breathing on the other side of the phone. “Hello?”

“Dean, please don’t hang up.”

No. Not tonight. God fucking damnit.

“What the fuck are you doing calling me?”

Dean could see that that had gotten Crowley’s attention, and he knew he should just hang up now, but he couldn’t.

Not when it was Cas on the other line, and he might be hurt or in trouble or-

“I’m sorry.”

Or high.

“Call your fucking sponsor, Cas,” Dean said. He wiped his hand down his face, trying to turn off the part of his brain that had gone into worry mode. Where’s Cas? Who’s with him? What did he take? “Or- Where’s Gabriel?”

“India,” said Cas. “He’s discovering himself. And I don’t- if I call her, she’ll be so mad at me.”

“I’m mad at you,” Dean said, slowly so Cas could understand. “Cas, I’m fucking livid.”

“You’re the only one that will help me,” said Cas. “I’ve been trying so hard, Dean. I’ve been better. Ask… ask Lilah, she’ll tell you.”

“I’m not calling her for you. That’s not my job. None of this is my job,” said Dean. There was silence on the other line. “Cas? Cas, fucking answer me.”

“Please don’t leave me alone.”

Dean looked across the table at Crowley. He knew he should hang up. He should figure out Lilah’s number and send her Cas’ way and get on with his evening and try to salvage what was supposed to be one of the most important nights of his life, if chick flicks were to be believed.

“Crowley,” Dean said, instead. “I have to go take care of something.”

Crowley blinked. He didn’t even look surprised. Dean waited for him to respond in some way, give some indication of what was going through his head.

“Go,” Crowley finally said, emotionless. And that’s how Dean knew, he needed to stay right now. He needed to put the phone down and get on his fucking knees asking forgiveness.

“Cas, where are you?” he said into the phone. “I’ll be there as soon as I can, so don’t friggin’ move, okay?”

***

Gabriel’s apartment had a bubblegum pink door, not because Gabriel really liked the color pink, but because his next door neighbor was a raging homophobe and he thought it was funny every time she got up in arms about “the gays” invading her building. Gabriel was straighter than a Disney starlet’s hair, but as Cas had explained to Dean many times, it was always the principle of the thing with Gabriel.

Dean was pretty sure if maybe Gabriel spent less time aggravating assholes on his brother’s behalf and more time actually taking care of said junkie brother, the world would be a better place. Just try telling Gabriel that. His sense of familial obligation began and ended with shielding Cas from any kind of legal consequences he might face by bribing away any and all charges of possession. Or enabling, as Dean had shouted in Gabriel’s face more than once. And whenever good old Gabe got too depressed about his fuck up brother, he had the tendency to take long vacations in which he couldn’t be held responsible for Cas’ wellbeing because he wasn’t fucking there to look after him anyway.

And this was the mess Dean was willingly walking back into because of one phone call from an ex. Yeah right.

And Dean could tell himself that all he wanted, but here he was knocking on the dumb bubblegum pink door. He counted backwards from ten and told himself that if Cas hadn’t answered the door by then, he was going home and stopping at the grocery store to pick up flowers or something because-

“Dean.”

And god help him, Dean’s breath caught in his throat. Because looking at Cas, it was like being knocked below the belt with a ton of bricks. There was literal bad blood between them, and here Dean was staring at Cas like a tool, and if that wasn’t some screwed up kind of love, Dean didn’t know what was. The problem being that falling out of love with Cas was really high on his list of priorities, and he’d thought he’d been doing such a great job of it.

Cas threw up on Dean’s shoes. Well, that helped with the whole falling out of love thing a little bit at least.

“What did you take?” Dean asked as he dragged Cas towards the bathroom. It was a little fucking sad how well he knew the drill. Cas clumsily undressed and Dean looked under the sink for the trash bags to keep Cas’ puke covered clothes in. After that he turned on the shower, and went to Cas’ room to pick up new clothes. When he got back, Cas had already turned off the shower and had a towel wrapped around his shoulders. He was sitting next to the toilet, his face a ghostly green.

“Do I need to call the hospital?”

“Please don’t,” Cas grit out. “I’ll be fine, I just need to sleep it off. It doesn’t even count if you think about it.”

Dean helped Cas into clean clothing and did his best not to be rough about it.

“How does it not count?” Dean asked. Cas leaned more heavily on him while Dean was helping with his pants. Dean wondered what Crowley would have to say if Cas ended up throwing up on the suit. This was enough of a distraction to almost make him miss a classic case of Cas’ wandering hands. Almost. “I didn’t bring my wallet.”

In fact, Dean had left it back with Crowley in the stupid French restaurant. Which was to say he trusted his pissed off almost fiancee in a place where a bottle of wine could cost more than a month’s rent with his credit cards more than he trusted Cas. And with good reason.

“Just keeping in practice,” said Cas. Dean tried to pretend he didn’t remember being the one to teach Cas how to pickpocket, back when he was way less reputable and Cas was the rich, sheltered kid that looked at him like he was the one who thought of slicing bread. “I hate when you look at me like that.”

“Like what.”

“Like you’re disappointed,” said Cas. “It’s not like- I’d stop if I could. I have been stopping. I wouldn’t have called at all but withdrawal’s been a real ‘bitch’.”

Cas lifted his hands in some halfhearted attempt at air quotes. Dean swallowed a laugh, knowing that giving any ground would be the beginning of the end.

“Yeah, I remember. Not exactly my first go around this block with you.”

Cas retched into the toilet again. Dean wet a cloth and held it against Cas’ forehead. Cas leaned back on him. For a little while it was quiet and Dean could pretend he was somewhere else. Maybe babysitting for his next door neighbor Lisa’s kid, Ben, while he was sick. Of course, Cas wasn’t one to keep his mouth shut when he was coming down. At least, not for long.

“How long has it been?” Cas asked. When Dean looked at him, he saw that Cas’ eyes were closed. He wasn’t sure whether he was happy about that. On the one hand, Cas had always had killer eyes, and on the other it had always killed Dean a little to see them unfocused and blood shot, pupils blown wide when Cas was under the influence.

“I don’t know. A year?” Dean said. He cleared his throat. “I’m seeing someone you know.”

“And it’s serious.”

“Yes.”

“Marriage serious,” Cas said. Dean wondered how the hell he could possibly know that before he remembered he hadn’t actually ever gotten the ring out during his dinner with Crowley. Sure enough, he looked down and Cas was playing with the ring box, gently opening and shutting it repeatedly.

“If you pawn that, I will never speak to you again, you hear me?” Dean said, a little more harshly than he usually spoke when dealing with a strung out Cas. He tried to save the yelling for when he was sober. “Give it back.”

Cas kept opening and shutting the case, lost in the repetitiveness of the motion.

“Cas,” Dean repeated, but softer this time. Pleading. The box was pushed back into his hands. Cas leaned back over the toilet. Nothing came up, but Cas hacked for a solid twenty seconds anyway. Dean tucked the ring box back into his pocket. “What did you take?”

“Painkillers, I think. Pills,” Cas said. “I got lonely, and they were very nice. I don’t remember their names.”

Cas was lying. Dean couldn’t blame him, considering the one time Dean had tracked down one of Cas’ dealers and beat the shit out of him. Cas’d always been careful since then not to mention anyone by name. The only part of the story Dean believed was that Cas had gotten lonely and gone out to drown it all out.

“You can’t relapse every time you get lonely.”

“I’m an addict. It’s kind of what we do,” said Cas. He leaned back against Dean again, and Dean automatically went back to wiping the sweat from Cas’ forehead with the wet cloth. “And it’s not like I can call you when I get lonely, anymore.”

“I’m here,” Dean pointed out. Cas nodded, curling into him slightly.

“You’re here,” he agreed. “I miss you.”

And right then and there, Dean had to remind himself of every shitty thing Cas had ever done to him. Every time Dean had come home to find another box of his mom’s old records missing only to buy them back at the pawn shop around the corner. The blowup arguments in which Cas had manipulated Dean at every turn, because Dean was just that soft on him. He had wanted to believe so many times that Cas meant it when he said he was getting clean. And hey, the third time through rehab’s a charm, but Dean just hadn’t been able to handle it by then. So he’d left a note, and he hadn’t called. Cas had taken the hint. Or at least he had until today.

“That sounds tough,” said Dean. “You know what else is tough? Getting dragged away from your fucking life by your junkie ex-boyfriend who just get back from a bender.”

“That does sound difficult,” Cas said solemnly, and whether or not the fucker thinks he’s funny, Dean is not amused. “Of course you could have said no. At least, you could have if you didn’t like this.”

“Shut up, Cas.”

“You love having someone to take care of,” Cas continued, and it just figured Dean had to get here right when Cas got mean. He always got mean when he was getting closer to sober. It only happened when the lucidity was there, but the clarity of sobriety wasn’t. “You love being the hero. You love when you get to climb on your fucking high horse and play the knight in shining armor, don’t pretend you don’t.”

“Look out, here comes asshole Cas.”

“You were only ever happy when you got to take care of me,” said Cas. “But I’m not helpless. I can take care of myself.”

Cas finished this little speech with a self satisfied little smirk. That lasted about as long as it took for Cas’ face to pale again. He lurched over the toilet and dry heaved, spitting out bile with a disgusting, wet sound. When he was done he practically collapsed backwards, resting his head against the tile wall and avoiding looking at Dean.

“Yeah. You’re doing a real bang up job of that,” said Dean sarcastically. “You want me to leave then?”

Cas still wouldn’t look at him.

“Alright. Text me when Lilah gets here,” said Dean, getting up to leave. Cas’ hand shot out, circling Dean’s wrist. He tugged gently, and Dean sat back down next to Cas.

“Don’t,” said Cas. “Just don’t. I’ll play nice, I promise. But don’t leave me alone.”

And maybe someday Cas would stop being a glaring blind spot for Dean. Someday.

***

Carrying Cas to bed was a stupid idea, and also apparently not physically possible anymore. Cas must have gained a good forty pounds in muscle since the last time Dean had seen him. He laughed when Dean nearly threw out his back trying to pick him up, and shakily got to his feet after Dean glared at him. Cas rested back against the wall, moving his head like he was trying to shake off the dizziness.

“Can you even walk?”

“With some help,” Cas said, reaching out for Dean’s shoulder.

“You’ve been working out,” Dean said. Accused. Whatever.

“I told you. Better,” said Cas. Dean glared at him. “Mostly better. I’m trying to eat better too. Sam sent me some tips. It's supposed to be a good substitute to focus on.”

“You’ve been talking to Sam?” Dean asked, caught by surprise. Cas had mentioned calling him, but Dean had just figured that was Cas going through his contacts and looking for friendly faces. Of which there were few, considering how much shit he’d pulled between rehab visits two and three. “Since when?”

“Since I got out,” said Cas. “He thought it was better if you didn’t know.”

Yeah. That sounded like Sam. Sometimes it was like he just couldn’t help trying to micromanage Dean’s life. Maybe being a juvenile delinquent had something to do with it. As if Dean hadn’t moved past that, and gotten his degree and a real job with shitty benefits at a public high school. Against all odds, he was a contributing member of society, and it would be nice if Sam gave him some credit every once in a while.

Sure, Cas was a weak spot, but Dean had managed just fine before now.

“And you thought it was better if I didn’t know.”

“I thought your note made it pretty clear where we stood,” said Cas. And there was fire in his eyes now. He pushed Dean’s hands off him when he reached his bed, and weakly pulled the covers over himself. Dean was relieved to see there was no puke in the bed, and reached out to adjust the comforter. Cas pushed his hands away, again. “You could have called me.”

“Yeah. That would have gone real well,” said Dean, sitting on the floor with his back against Cas’ bed. “The second I heard your voice, I would’ve folded.”

Cas’ hand reached out, and he started practically petting the top of Dean’s head. Dean rolled his eyes, but he let Cas do what he wanted, because it felt kinda nice anyway. Besides it was only a few hours before Dean would have to leave for class, and then if he managed a bit of self control he’d never see Cas again.

“So you’ve been talking to Sam,” said Dean. “Why isn’t he here?”

“He told me his help was contingent on my sobriety,” said Cas. “I don’t think we’re actually speaking anymore. He was very angry when I called him.”

“He can join the club,” said Dean. “You really had to pick tonight to fall off the wagon?”

“Sorry for the inconvenience,” Cas snarked back. “It’s difficult to be this annoying. It takes a lot of planning.”

“And you’re so grateful, too,” said Dean. “Not like I walked out on my own damn proposal to look after you. That’s going to be a fun story for the grandkids. If Crowley fucking forgives me.”

Cas’ hand retreated from Dean’s head. For a few minutes, neither of them spoke.

“If I asked you,” Cas started. He paused, obviously taking care choosing his words. He used to always be like that. So careful with every little thing. Dean was the one who told him to loosen up, to let go, to be a fucking person. And Jesus Christ, he hadn’t meant it like this but that didn’t stop the guilt from swallowing him whole every time he thought about it. “If I asked you to wait for me, on the condition that I stay sober and continue to get better… would you?”

“No.”

Dean could hear Cas rolling over slightly. When he checked over his shoulder, he saw Cas lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

“I suppose that’s fair,” Cas said. “Do you remember when we met?”

“Yeah.”

Cas had been a skinny twelve year old who dressed too nicely for the neighborhood he lived in. Luckily, he’d also been Gabriel’s little brother, which meant he was listened to by any- and everyone who didn’t want to wake up with the soles of their feet superglued to their ass (don’t ask). Dean on the other hand had been “that kid” who acted out every time Mom and Dad had a fight, and was on pretty much everyone’s shit list for pulling some stunt or other.

Age twelve is about the time kids actually start hitting you for real, and meaning it, too. And Dean might have been his own type of bully, but he was always outnumbered so that didn’t count for much.

One day in comes Cas, at Dean’s three o’clock beat down like some kind of avenging angel. No one should have let him get away with pushing them off Dean, but Gabriel was a scary motherfucker and Cas was used to coasting off of that reputation. So he took Dean’s hand and marched him out of the little mob of sixth graders. Cas had probably expected a thank you, too.

It wasn’t Dean’s proudest moment, punching Cas in the face, but twelve was old enough to know what it would look like walking down a hallway holding hands with a guy. Dean didn’t even really know what “gay” meant back then (because despite his elementary school pick up skills, he’d been kind of a late bloomer when it came to the whole sexual awakening thing), but he’d known enough to understand that this would just be one more way to mark him abnormal. And his undiagnosed “behavioral” issues had gotten him written off enough that Dean knew the score on that.

And maybe if he hadn’t broken his hand on Cas’ face, they wouldn’t be friends. But Cas had seen the bone sticking out of Dean’s skin, and gotten this calm, authoritative look about him. He’d been the one who knew what to do for a broken bone while waiting for medics, and he’d gone all the way to the hospital with Dean and flat out lied to Dean’s parents about how he’d broken his hand (and insisted the two teachers that had seen Dean punch Cas were liars, because loyalty and Cas were two words that often belonged in the same sentence. At least, before all the other shit that is). Cas used to be a shit liar, and Dean got in trouble anyway, but Cas never backed down from his version of events in which he’d “accidentally tripped into Dean’s fist”. After something like that, you can’t not be best friends with someone. And for a while, Cas had been the greatest best friend in the world for someone like Dean.

“I wish we could go back,” said Cas. “I wanted to be a doctor, remember?”

Dean remembered. He also remembered Cas dropping out of medical school when the Adderall and the painkillers he was taking had led to the mother of all nervous breakdowns. Hello rehab stint number one. Not that the first one had even made a dent. Cas hadn’t had his first stroke yet at that point.

“Yeah, well we can’t,” said Dean. “We can’t go back, so stop fucking talking about it. You don’t get to pretend the rest of it didn’t happen, just ‘cause you were out of your fucking head for half of it. I can’t pretend it didn’t happen.”

Cas didn’t say anything for a while. Dean figured either he was pissed or he’d fallen asleep, so he stood up and started looking for Cas’ phone so he could call Lilah and maybe go home and get some sleep.

“I remember everything,” Cas said, making Dean freeze. “I wasn’t… I wasn’t as ‘out of my head’ as I acted sometimes. I knew what I was doing. I always knew what I was doing.”

“Cas.”

“I had lines. They got blurry over time, but I never touched your car. I didn’t mess with your tuition. I never scammed Mary for extra cash. Everything else was fair game after I got cut off,” said Cas. “But I knew how much you trusted me, despite everything. I took advantage, and I’m sorry.”

Dean gave up looking for the phone.

“Great. Does that make you feel better?”

“No,” said Cas. “And you?”

“Not a bit,” said Dean. Cas nodded to himself and he cleared his throat.

“This… Crowley. He treats you well?”

“Yeah. He does.”

“And you love him?”

“I do,” Dean said, and the worst part is that it’s fucking true. He actually loves how obsessive Crowley gets over his dog, and how bitchy he gets about his mother, and the fact that Dean can win any argument by calling him Fergus because Crowley straight up won’t talk to him for an hour after he does, and that means Dean is free to do what he wants until Crowley stops giving him the silent treatment. It’s good, what he has with Crowley. It’s great even, so it shouldn’t feel like shooting himself in the foot telling Cas about it.

“More than you love me?”

“What do you want from me, Cas?” Dean asked, and if he wasn’t careful he was going to do something stupid, like cry. It wasn’t fair that Cas could cut him so deep, still. After everything. And maybe Cas knew that too, because the next second Cas was pulling his phone out of his pocket and whispering to Lilah what had happened. He hung up before Dean had even realized what he was doing.

“She’ll be here soon,” Cas said. Dean nodded, accepting that as both dismissal and release. He turned to go. “Dean.”

When he turned around he saw Cas holding out a ring. It took a second for Dean to realize that that was the ring he’d bought for Crowley and to snatch it out of Cas’ fingers.

“I wasn’t going to pawn it, and I am getting better,” Cas said, miserably. “I just… it made me sad. Go home, Dean. Thank you for staying with me.”

“I can wait until Lilah-“

“Go home.”

So Dean left.

***

“Marry me?”

Dean could see the moment Crowley’s assistant froze, listening in (Simmons? Simon? Seth? Crowley really should give the guy a name tag or something, because Dean prided himself on remembering people’s names, but he just hadn’t been able to pick it up on the first go around and now he was afraid to ask). Crowley didn’t freeze, but he didn’t exactly look pleased either.

“Shouldn’t you be teaching America’s youth the wonders of math?” Crowley asked him, still looking over a contract. And Dean must have screwed this up worse than he even he thought because Crowley never worked when Dean was visiting. In fact, he sometimes went out of his way not to work, and it bothered his partners to no end.

“I called in sick.”

“It took that long to pick your friend off the floor and call his sponsor?” Crowley asked. The way he said friend meant he knew exactly who Cas was, had done a thorough background check, and probably casually stopped by Mary Winchester’s place this morning to get the full story. It had taken a long ass time for Crowley to get in Mary’s good graces (and those good graces were dependent on just how much Sam hated Crowley at any given moment), but once he’d charmed his way there, he’d gotten hold of a gold mine of insider Winchester information.

“Let’s cut the bullshit, Crowley,” said Dean. “Just ask what you want to know.”

“Did you sleep with him?”

“Y’know it’s weird. There’s just something about a guy puking his guts out that’s such a turn off,” said Dean. Crowley gave him a look. “No. I didn’t even want to. It wasn’t like that.”

“You were a mess, when I met you,” said Crowley. “You do know that, right?”

“You wanted a mess,” said Dean. And Crowley just kept staring him down. “Oh come on, like I wasn’t supposed to figure out you only started dating me to get one up on Sam. I’m not stupid.”

“You are on occasion,” Crowley said. “And that was before I decided I liked you. It doesn’t count.”

“Then let’s get married,” said Dean. “I like you. You like me. Vegas is an extended road trip away.”

“I’m not getting married in Vegas, and you know that,” said Crowley. Which yeah, Dean did, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t try. “And I’m not getting married to someone who’s using me to run away from someone else.”

“I’m not. Honest to God, I’m not,” said Dean. “Look, maybe once upon a time you were a rebound, but you’re not anymore. And I know I messed up rushing out last night, but I still want to be with you. Not him.”

Crowley put down his papers, and Dean took his chance again. He got down on one knee, and pulled out the ring box. And sure, his suit was wrinkled, and he was damn exhausted from having stayed up all night, and he was proposing in an ugly office, but all of it felt a lot more authentically Winchester than it had the night before.

“Marry me?”

“If I say yes, will you get off the floor? They never vacuum in here, Dean, that is disgusting,” said Crowley. Dean raised an eyebrow. “Yes, you idiot.”

***FIVE YEARS LATER***

“So,” said Sam. It was never a good thing when he started a conversation like this, and Dean was already bracing himself for Sam to bring it up. Like it was any of Sam’s business that the “Let’s have kids” talk had gone badly with Crowley. Even if Dean had drunkenly called him about it.

“What?” Dean snapped.

They were at Sam’s house, because Crowley was working late, and Eileen (who Dean had decided was the only person Sam was allowed to date ever again, because she was seriously cool) was visiting her grandmother and Sam hadn’t been able to take time off to go with her. Dean wasn’t sure when Sam had started actually looking to date again, though he had a feeling that when Sam saw him settle down, it had something to do with it. Not that things with Crowley were perfect, or that they didn’t fight. They worked together, though, him and Crowley.

“I don’t want you get upset,” said Sam slowly.

“Look, Crowley and I will figure this out. You don’t have to be so friggin’ dramatic about-“

“Not talking about that,” said Sam. He took a deep breath. “You know how I’ve been keeping in touch with Cas the last couple of years?”

“Uh, yeah,” said Dean. “Remember how you tried to do that behind my back, like a little bitch?”

“I really hope you don’t use that word in front of your students.”

“Of course not, mom,” Dean said rolling his eyes. “Whatever, get on with it.”

“Cas is coming up on five years sober,” said Sam, cautiously. “There’s a program he can participate in, where he talks to kids about beating addiction. He, uh, he wrote a book that he’s going to try to promote while he does that, and he might end up talking at your high school if it goes through. I just… I don’t want you to be surprised.”

And that was actually pretty thoughtful of Sam. Not really worth the huge build up, because Dean knew Cas was a person that existed in the world and there was a chance he might run into him every once in a while. Still the head’s up was appreciated.

“Got it,” said Dean. “I’m glad Cas is doing good for himself. Maybe I’ll say hi.”

“It’s just…” Sam said, and Dean realized the conversation wasn’t finished. “You might see me there too.”

Dean frowned.

“What do you mean?”

“Cas didn’t want to do it alone,” said Sam. “So I agreed to join the program if he did.”

“I’m pretty sure you actually have to be an addict if you want to do that, Sam,” Dean pointed out. Sam wouldn’t meet his eyes. Dean felt a lump form at the back of his throat. “You’re kidding me.”

“Jess dumped me for a reason, you know?” Sam said. “I never lost control, the way Cas did. When I saw what he put you through I managed to quit. Mostly by myself. I always figured you’d been through enough. You didn’t need to know.”

“I didn’t need to-“ Dean cut himself off. “You need to stop making decisions about what I can and can’t handle.”

“You know Cas said the same thing,” said Sam. “He told me I needed to tell you. And mom. He said we all keep too many secrets.”

“Great for Cas,” said Dean. “But we’re not talking about him right now. Why wouldn’t you tell me about something like that?”

Sam sighed

“I didn’t want to disappoint you?” he said, sounding unsure of himself. “You were already dealing with so much shit, and Mom kept telling me how great you were doing despite all of that, and- You told me this one time, that I inspired you. And that sounded so stupid to me, because I’d spent my whole life looking up to you. But you told me that hearing about Stanford and Jess and prelaw made you feel better about everything else. I didn’t want to take that away from you.”

“I could’ve helped.”

“Yeah, you could’ve,” said Sam. “And left Cas with Mom. Drove halfway across the country to try to stop a problem I didn’t even admit to myself for two years was a problem. I always told myself it was just performance enhancers. Everyone else was doing it, right? And it was just to make me better. How could it have hurt? I was being dumb, and I didn't want to admit it.”

Dean didn’t really have anything to say to that. He supposed it was over a decade too late at this point.

“Look, I know we have to talk about this,” said Sam. “But the Yankees are on in five minutes, and I really don’t feel like talking about it anymore.”

Well, that was a language Dean spoke at least. Let’s put this all in a box and let it explode at the next family dinner. Sounded like fun.

“Okay,” he said. “But you are good now, Sam?”

“Yes. I’m good,” said Sam. Dean believed him, but he also knew those missing years were going to haunt him. It didn’t matter that Dean had already been stretched thin, looking after Cas, and dealing with his dad’s failing health, and trying to get through school to become a teacher. He still felt like he’d failed somehow, having not noticed what Sam was going through. Or maybe he had noticed, but he’d just figured… And the thing was it was so long ago now, Dean couldn’t even remember.

“Did it help, Cas?” Dean asked, right before the game started. “The stuff you suggested, because you knew what helped with your stuff. Did it help him?”

“Five years sober,” Sam reminded him. And it was a fucking setup, and Dean knew it, but he just nodded and pretended he didn’t know exactly what Sam was doing.

***

But here’s the thing.

See, Cas did write a book. And no, it wasn’t the harrowing tale of overcoming addiction. No gore, no sex, not even really an excess of drama. He’d written essentially a YA novel about the ghost of a sixty year old teacher from the 1930s who was playing matchmaker before a school dance. Essentially a comedy of errors that was cute, and weirdly had Cas’ sense of humor written all over it. Dean could practically hear Cas’ voice while reading it.

And before you get ahead of yourself, the book was dedicated to Gabriel and Lilah, and you’d be hard pressed to find any of the Winchesters mentioned in the acknowledgements (Sam, briefly because talking at length about the fact you’re an addict is probably an industry no no if you’re writing for the twelve to sixteen demographic).

No, the really striking thing was how familiar it all felt. Cas had a steel trap memory, always had, and he could quote back Dean’s exact words to him from conversations they’d had weeks prior back when they were kids (this was before Dean told him that was annoying and to stop if he wanted people to like him). Every conversation in the book, every side tangent, linked back to one conversation or another that Dean could remember having had with Cas. It wasn’t a love letter in the most conventional sense, but Dean could still feel a weight pressing down on his chest when he’d finished reading it.

Gabriel’s door had been painted over a light blue. Dean knocked on it before he could talk himself out of it.

“Dean?” Cas asked. He was shocked, but Dean didn’t really give that a second thought.

“Is Gabriel home?”

Cas shook his head.

“He doesn’t actually live here anymore,” Cas said. “That trip to India was more permanent than he originally thought.”

“Your brother’s an asshole.”

“He did the best he could,” said Cas, testily. “Are you here for a reason?”

“Yeah. I am,” said Dean. He held up a copy of Cas’ book.

“Oh,” said Cas. “Did you, uh… Did you like it?”

Dean walked through and closed the door behind him. He set the book down and looked at Cas, and figured he’d catch on sooner rather than later. Cas’ eyes fell to Dean’s ring finger and it looked for a moment like he was going to protest, but the second Dean starting kissing him, he gave in entirely.

Dean dropped to his knees in front of him, and God he’d missed this. Missed the way Cas looked at him, missed Cas’ fingers in his hair, missed how good it always was. Because this was the way it was supposed to have been, before it all went wrong. And Dean wanted him.

“I love you,” Cas reminded him, and Dean was glad his mouth was a little busy right now or he might have actually said it back.

***

Dean hadn’t done the walk of shame in years. And before this he’d never really thought it was something to be ashamed about. Still, he waited as it got closer and closer to five a.m. and didn’t leave Cas’ bed. He didn’t want to face the consequences of what he’d done. He didn’t want to see the look on Cas’ face when he left.

“I can’t do this,” he said, five minutes before his alarm was set to go off. He hoped Cas was asleep, but no such luck.

“He doesn’t have to know,” Cas said. And even if it was an awful thing to say, Cas said it so small and uncertain, Dean couldn’t even be mad about it. It wasn’t like Cas was the one who had started all of this anyway.

“You’re better than that, Cas,” said Dean. “You deserve better than that. Don’t let anyone treat you like shit, you hear me? Not me, not anyone.”

“Why did you come here?” Cas asked.

“You’re healthy. You love me. You’re doing so good,” Dean said. “I just wanted…”

He wanted a taste of it, that life he almost had with Cas.

“Please just go.”

***

Crowley knew.

Dean didn’t even have to say a word. He hadn’t turned his phone tracking off, and he knew Crowley knew where Cas’ apartment was. So with a minimum amount of snooping Crowley had known where Dean was, what he was doing, and who with, because Crowley was good at his fucking job and Dean wasn’t all that sneaky anyway.

“Are you going to ask me why?”

“I know why,” Crowley said. “You really think I didn’t understand that I was perpetually in second place? That the only thing going in my favor is I’m not a coked up drug addict who ruined your life? Or that Sam has just been waiting for our marriage to crumble apart so he can stop pretending he can stand me? I just love you too much to care about all of that.”

“It won’t happen again,” said Dean, and he meant it.

“Yes it will,” said Crowley. “But like I said. I don’t care. You want to screw your childhood sweetheart every other weekend? Go ahead. But you aren’t leaving me.”

“What the actual fuck, Crowley?”

Dean didn’t know what to do with any of this. Rage, a meltdown, even cold disappointment he could have dealt with, but all Crowley seemed to be showing was some fucked up kind of understanding.

“I’ll take what I can get of you,” said Crowley with a shrug. And at least Dean could see now that Crowley wasn’t fine with it. He wasn’t sure if that made it better or worse. “And you’ll take what you can get of him. And that’s love for you, darling.”

***

Dean arrived at Mary Winchester’s house at eight p.m., after he knew she’d be done with dinner. She hadn’t been expecting him, but she let him in all the same and listened as Dean talked and talked and wondered what the fuck he was supposed to do.

She didn’t have any answers for him, but she had a bottle of vodka she’d been saving for a special occasion, and that was about the same thing.

When he woke up hungover the next morning, he called in sick for class and stayed on his mother’s couch, ignoring the various calls from Crowley, Cas, and Sam. Mary kicked him out late afternoon, and Dean was grateful she’d let him stay that long. She’d always been more of a tough love kinda mom, and she’d let him wallow a while longer than she usually would.

“Life is complicated,” Mary told him, before he left. “It doesn’t have to make sense. Your dad and I didn’t make sense, but I’m still glad he was part of my life. I still miss him, Dean. And sometimes when he comes home we fall into old patterns, but that’s just life. You’ll figure things out the best way you know how.”

Considering the fact Mary Winchester had a habit of dating psychopaths, Dean wasn’t sure that was the best advice in the world, but he figured he’d take it anyway. As far as he could see, it was about the only thing he could do.

Time to face the music. If nothing else, Dean had always been good at that.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know if you liked :)


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